The Buy More of the Bloodcurdling
by atlee
Summary: A trio of the most frightening, spine tingling tales ever uploaded! And in no way reminiscent of an annual animated Halloween special involving treehouses and terror.
1. Welcome Message

**Welcome to the Buy More of the Bloodcurdling!**_  
><em>

_Last year, I was toying with the idea of doing my own take on "The Simpsons" annual Halloween anthology (yup, yet another entry in the long list of stuff I've ripped-off, er, I mean, yell, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, right?) In the end, I only came up with one story ("A Haunting From Connecticut"), but the idea stuck around, and this time, by gum, I'm doing it._

_So, here's the first installment. Parts 2 and 3 will be out on Thursday (just in time for the season premiere!) and Monday (just in time for Halloween!)_

_So, as always, I don't own "Chuck" "The Simpsons" or anything else referenced in any of these stories._

_And as always, please let me know what you think. These were fun to write, and I hope they're fun to read as well._

_So without further ado, welcome to the Buy More of the Bloodcurdling._

_Click next, if you dare…_

_No seriously, click next. It's up there on the top right of your screen._


	2. 28 Calories Later

**1. Twenty-Eight Calories Later**

"Do you have any idea why Devon called us here?"

Chuck looked over at his wife and shrugged. "No idea. He said he and Ellie were safe, but we needed to get over to the hospital ASAP. That's all he said."

It had been a short phone call, and Devon's tone had revealed more than his words had. He'd been scared. Which meant that whatever the trouble was it was non-surgery, but possibly espionage, related.

So Chuck and Sarah were now entering through the revolving doors of Burbank General, unsure of what to expect. Whatever the emergency was, it wasn't a noisy one. The hospital waiting area was unusually quiet. Usually, it was filled with the usual type of Southern California health-issues: severe sunburn, skateboarding accidents, and frustrated writers with alcohol poisoning. But not today. There also didn't seem to be any nurses or doctors in sight. It was completely, eerily still.

"Any idea where Devon is?"

"He didn't say. But surgery's up on the seventh floor. We should check there."

They found the stairs and hurried their way upwards. As Chuck was just passing the door to the fifth floor he heard Sarah yell, "Hey! I think I see somebody!" He watched her return to the hallway, and followed close behind.

It took a few moments for Chuck to recognize the figure in the hallway. It wasn't as if he'd never seen Lester sick before. After all, the odds were always with him showing up to work hung over. But this time his complexion was more gray than green. And his usual movement, a cross between Mick Jagger and a flamingo, had been replaced with more of an awkward shuffle.

The Nerd Herder seemed to mumble something that Chuck couldn't quite make out. "What did he say?" he asked Sarah, who was a couple of steps closer.

"I'm not sure, but I think he said, 'Nice brains.' Which is kind of a step-up for Lester, really. It's about time he saw a woman as more than just a body."

Things were beginning to make sense for Chuck now. Well, not sense, exactly, but consistent with years of Comic-Con research. "Sarah, back away from him now. We need to get out of here, fast."

"From Lester? You don't think he's actually dangerous, do you?"

"That's not Lester. Not exactly, anyway."

Chuck grabbed Sarah's arm and tugged her back towards the stairwell. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Not-exactly-Lester speed up his pursuit. This time, he could hear his groan clearly. "Brainsss!"

Chuck pulled open the door, and they headed up the stairs. A few moments later, they were on the seventh floor. At first it seemed like they were alone, but then a burly figure stepped out of one of the rooms, his familiar XXL green shirt torn in several places.

"Brainsss! Fresh brainsss!"

"Aw geez, not Big Mike too!" Chuck said as he and Sarah backed away. They turned around to try to the other direction, but two other ashen-faced ex-people were shuffling their way towards them. Chuck backed away towards the wall, frantically wishing he could still flash, when a strong hand grabbed him.

* * *

><p>A moment later Chuck was lying on the ground of an examination room, looking at the concerned brown eyes staring back at him. "Ellie?"<p>

"Thank God you two are alright! Those…things are all over the place! They just keep coming no matter what we do… Devon! For God's sakes would you put those down!"

Devon sheepishly placed the scalpel and surgical saw he'd been brandishing back on the table. "Sorry, Bro. Wasn't sure if you were infected too. Couldn't be too careful."

"I don't suppose you guys could tell us what's going on," Sarah said as she brushed herself off. "Is this some kind of weird infection?"

"Something like that. We've seen more and more of them all day. Near as we can tell, they're…"

"Zombies."

"Oh, don't be silly Chuck," Sarah admonished her husband.

"Hey, this happens to be an area of expertise!" Chuck protested.

"As much as I hate to admit it, Sarah," Ellie said, "it's as good a diagnosis as any."

"Then all of that about eating brains…"

Devon shuddered. "Trust me. Not an awesome thing to see. Uh, that's locked isn't it?"

The zombies were beginning to pound on the door outside, and occasionally Chuck could see the doorknob wiggle a bit. But the door held firm, so for the moment they seemed safe.

After a couple of minutes of this, Chuck started to get used to the noise, and the sound of a soft whimpering caught his attention. He looked back to see a young woman curled up on the floor, crying. He recognized her as a nurse friend of Ellie's. Kelly, he thought her name was.

While Ellie went over to put a comforting arm around the weeping nurse, Sarah asked, "So how did this all start?"

"I don't know, I was up in surgery at first, but then they called everyone down because there were so many patients. Some sort of food poisoning, they said. When I got down there, there was this crowd of people waiting, looking gray and sick like that. Then this pharmaceutical rep walked by, and…Lester just bit her."

That almost sounded like Lester's usual behavior.

"Are you sure that could be caused by food poisoning?" Sarah asked. "I've heard of this sort of thing being caused by psychotropic drugs. Maybe that's what happened."

"I don't know," Ellie admitted. "We alerted the CDC, and they should have a team out soon."

"And then what?" they turned to see Kelly standing up, tears still on her cheeks. "We just sit here waiting? Those…things are going to break down that door soon!"

"We just need to stay calm," Ellie said. "That door is bolted. We should be fine here."

"I can't do it!" the nurse protested. "I have to get out of here!" She ran to the door, opened it, and tried to push her way through. Sarah moved behind her, chopping at any zombie limbs that emerged through the door. She managed to shove the door closed again, leaving a layer of hands and fingers underneath the door.

Chuck looked over at his sister and saw the concern in her eyes. Sighing, he turned to his wife. "We should see if we can save Kelly. We're better equipped to fight those things than she is."

"Not really," Sarah disagreed. "You don't have the Intersect anymore, and zombie-killing wasn't exactly part of my training."

"Please, Sarah," Ellie begged.

The blonde ex-CIA agent thought about it for a couple of seconds, and then nodded to her sister-in-law. "Ok. But just me," she said to Chuck.

"No way! Like you said, you don't know much about zombies. I can at least help you there."

Sarah sighed, and the two of them carefully opened the door.

* * *

><p>The hallway around the exam room was empty. As Chuck and Sarah quietly moved down the hall, they soon discovered why. They were clearly too late to save Kelly.<p>

"Brainsss," Lester moaned.

"Low-calorie, all-natural brainsss," Big Mike elaborated. Chuck looked over at Sarah and shrugged. His wife turned her head, motioning back to where Ellie and Devon were holed up.

As they were turning back, Chuck's foot squeaked. He silently cursed the noisy nature of his trademark footwear, and then watched as several gray faces looked up to stare at him. "Oh, crap!"

"C'mon!" Sarah yelled, and they ran back down the hall. Chuck saw his sister and Devon standing in the hallway, apparently investigating the commotion. Once they saw the pursuers, they took off in the other direction.

Sarah grabbed the gun she had concealed, and fired back at the zombies. Chuck heard a groan or two, but wasn't sure if that meant that her shots had hit their target or if they were just making zombie small-talk. They followed the hallway back towards the stairwell, only to find more zombies blocking the way.

"We're trapped!"

"Brainsss!" commented one of the zombies.

"Heart-healthy brainsss!" agreed another.

"What's up with all the health nut buzzwords?" Chuck asked. "I've never heard of zombies on a diet before."

"It never hurts to watch what you eat, Chuck," Devon replied.

"I'm a bit more worried about who _they're_ going to eat."

They turned around, only to find that Lester had come up behind them, blocking the other direction. Sarah fired at him a couple of times, but he didn't slow.

"We're doomed, guys," Devon said.

* * *

><p>"You girls need some help?" came a voice from down the hall. A second later, the hospital hallway echoed with a pair of blasts, and the two zombies in front of Chuck exploded into piles of decomposing goo.<p>

A second later, the figure of John Casey emerged in front of them, the zipper of his leather jacket jingling. He was carrying a bulky firearm Chuck remembered seeing once in the back of Casey's weapons storage closet/wardrobe. "Duck," Casey said between the teeth clenched around his cigar.

Chuck dropped down. "Hey Lester!" he heard Casey say, followed by another boom. This was followed by, "You going to sit there waiting for more of those walking corpses to find you, or you going to follow me?"

Everyone followed Casey as he led them down another corridor. Chuck ventured a quick glance backward, and wished he hadn't. The hospital's cleaning crew would have a heck of a time cleaning the remnants of zombie Lester off the floor, walls, and ceiling. He hadn't been much of a Nerd Herder, but he deserved a more dignified send-off than that.

Casey finally stopped them at a doorway leading to the hospital's operating theatre. Once the door was thoroughly locked and blockaded, Chuck noticed that there was someone there waiting for them.

Chuck wasn't sure he'd be able to tell the difference between the regular and zombie versions of Jeff Barnes, but he figured that the lack of open wounds and barely-attached appendages meant that his co-worker was still among the living. He looked pale and frightened, though not quite sober.

"I found this moron cringing in the parking lot," Casey explained. "It seems he can shed a little light about what's going on here."

"Oh, uh, right," Jeff gulped, when he realized that everyone was looking at him. "It all started at lunch. We'd all decided to go to our favorite lunch place. They were having this special deal on this new sub, the 'Heart-Healthy Veggie, Herb and Meat Surprise' 12-inch sub. When we got back to the Buy More, Big Mike started complaining about a stomach ache. He and Lester both started looking real green. I didn't really think that much of it until they started eating Skip."

Chuck decided not to dwell on that, and asked, "But how come you didn't turn, too?"

"Oh, I didn't order that sub. I'm a vegan."

"Seriously?"

"Hey, my body is a temple," Jeff punctuated this statement with a loud belch.

"Ok, so why didn't they come after you?" Sarah asked.

"They did at first. Lester started sniffing my head. But then he mumbled something about not liking pickles, and walked away."

"Were there other people at this restaurant ordering the same sub?" Ellie asked Jeff, who nodded.

"So then this sandwich place," Ellie considered, "and this new sub, must be the cause of things. Whatever this new 'mystery meat' is, it's making people sick."

"Far as I'm concerned, the why doesn't matter," Casey said. "The important part is how to get rid of 'em."

"Shoot them in the head," Chuck interrupted.

Casey scoffed. "Just like the CIA to get their zombie knowledge from the movies. You shoot one of those things hard enough, they'll go down. No need to waste your time trying to find the brain."

Chuck narrowed his eyes. "And how do you know that?"

"Trust me, I know. Hunted down a nest of those deadheads back in Kazakhstan. 1993, I think."

"You mean you've fought these…zombies before?" Sarah asked.

"What, your CIA didn't train you on these? I suppose not. NSA's had jurisdiction on rotters for years. Werewolves too. Last time I checked you guys still get first dibs on leprechauns though."

Chuck couldn't tell if Casey was joking or not. "So you've had more than one run-in with zombies then?"

Casey grunted. "Had more than one run-in with brain munchers back in the day. In fact, the three things I hated the most about the 90's were grunge, those Clintons, and all the damn zombies."

"This is fascinating and all," Devon interrupted, "but I think they've found us."

Chuck looked up at the large window at the outer edge of the operating theatre. Several zombies were pounding on the glass, including Big Mike and what was left of Kelly.

"That window going to hold?" Sarah asked.

"I don't know," Ellie replied. "I don't think they built the place with this in mind."

"Well, let 'em come," Casey said. "This should be fun. Nothing like a little Rigor Moron target practice."

A moment later, the window came crashing down, thanks to the head of one of the zombies. Casey took out the first few that came trudging down the theatre aisles. But the zombies weren't discouraged, and their assault didn't slow.

"Not too smart, are they?" Sarah asked, as she brought down a few more.

"Nope. These are dumb, even by rotter standards."

It soon became clear that there were too many of them, and Chuck and the others were in danger of being overrun. "Guys, maybe we should get out of here."

"You might be right," Ellie replied while chopping through what appeared to be a former candy striper with her operating saw.

"There a way out of here?" Casey asked.

"There's a back way, where we go to scrub in," Devon said.

"Well you guys head out that way. I'll hold them off."

Chuck followed his sister as Devon led the way. As they were leaving, Chuck saw Sarah grab a scalpel and throw it right into the forehead of the nearest zombie. "Sorry!" he heard her yell, which he didn't understand until he saw that her target was the ex-nurse and ex-breathing Kelly.

"That's ok!" Ellie yelled back. "She flirted with Devon way too much."

* * *

><p>Just as they were reaching the next room, Chuck saw that Devon had stopped. Two zombies were inside the room, reaching for him. Chuck quickly grabbed a pair of surgical scissors and stabbed one in the eye. The bloodshot orb fell out of the zombie's head, and rolled to the floor.<p>

"Well that's not sterile."

Sarah had just kicked the other zombie to the floor. The first zombie was trying to grab at Chuck, but was struggling thanks to its newfound lack of depth perception. "Brainsss! Gimme brainsss!" it moaned. "Tasty low-fat brainsss!" It didn't get to add to that, as Ellie lopped its head off. He took one look at the bloody instrument in her hand, and decided he never wanted to know the type of surgery it was used for.

"We're safe for now," Sarah said after shooting the second zombie in the head.

"Not for long," Devon said, closing the back door. "There are more of those things down the hall."

"Not great for a last stand," Casey commented as he entered the room. "The last of the stiffs decided to retreat for now," he explained. "But they'll be back."

"Wonderful. Then we're screwed," Jeff sighed.

"Wouldn't count on that," Casey replied. "Things sometimes turn out for the better. Hell, I woke this morning thinking this would be yet another day that I wouldn't get to shoot Patel in the head. Sometimes you get lucky."

Seeing Jeff's reaction, Chuck decided to change the subject. "What do they keep going on about low calorie brains and all of that? Is this another zombie thing that you're an expert on?" he asked Casey.

The big man shrugged. "That's a new one for me, too. The last couple of rotters were about on me, moaning on about how my brains would fit their active lifestyle. Then when they got close, they seemed to lose interest and backed away."

"Maybe they thought your brain was too fatty," Chuck commented, earning a scowl from the big man.

"Maybe he's too smart," Jeff spoke up. Everyone turned around to look at him.

The current predicament seemed to have sobered Jeff up a bit, and he was now studying the remains of the two zombies lying on the floor. "That place was always bragging about how healthy the food was. Maybe that mystery meat was like that too. Well, except for the whole turning-you-undead thing. But maybe that's what they crave now – lighter brains. And you wouldn't find them on anyone that's too smart, right?"

As ridiculous as that sounded, Chuck wasn't about to rule anything at that point. He turned to his sister. "Does that make sense? That the brains of, um, less intellectually-savvy people would be lower in calories?"

Ellie shook her head. "I have no idea. Hard as it is to believe, there hasn't been a lot of medical research involving the nutritional value of brains."

"Well, it's a theory, but I'm not sure how it helps us," Sarah said by the door. "And we're going to need to do something. They're coming."

The back door was a fairly sturdy, but Chuck could see that the metal frame wouldn't hold out for long. From the banging sound, he guessed that the zombies were running into the door over and over. "Brainsss! Eat fresh…brainsss!"

Chuck recognized the moaning as that of Big Mike, and knew the next surge would probably mean the end of the door. "Guys, I suggest we try the other way again."

They ran back into the operating theatre, carefully avoiding stepping on the various zombie corpses on the floor. They reached the top, and ran back into the hallway.

Only to find zombies lurching around in both directions.

"Oh crap," he said. Casey pushed ahead, and fired a couple shots, then growled as his gun emitted a soft click.

"I'm out. We're going to have to fight our way through."

Chuck, eyeing the zombies descending on them, decided to test Jeff's theory. "You don't want my brain!" he yelled. "I had a 3.6 GPA at Stanford." He decided to leave out the part about getting kicked out. It probably wouldn't help in the current situation. "And it had a whole database attached to it. It'll give my brain a bad metallic taste."

The lead zombie seemed to waver a bit, and turned its attention to Sarah.

"You don't want me either. Summa cum laude at Harvard."

Chuck turned to his wife. "Really?"

Sarah gave Chuck a look. "Don't sound so surprised."

"Oh, I'm not, it's just…" The zombies had now backed away from both of them, and were descending on Ellie and Devon.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding," Ellie said. "I'm a doctor. Specializing in neuroscience."

"Fatty," one of the zombies agreed after sniffing the air. It then turned to Devon.

"Hey, zombie bro, I'm a doctor too. A surgeon. And granted we're known more for our split second decision-making then for being particularly wise. And," he added thoughtfully, "I guess I wasn't that good with tests. I mean I did copy off of Ellie's paper a few times, but still."

The zombies weren't impressed, and began to surround Devon.

"Uh, guys, maybe you should run away now. I'll do what I...oof." Chuck watched as the first zombie grabbed his brother-in-law.

Sarah tried to shoot at a few of the zombies, but soon she too was out of ammunition. "I think we have to go!"

"No!" Ellie protested. "That's my husband!"

"Ellie, please!" Devon said from under a pile of zombies. "Please go, and save yourself. Ow, quit biting my arm. That's _so_ not awesome!"

Chuck and Casey each grabbed the protesting Ellie, and dragged her down the hallway, leaving the doomed surgeon behind.

* * *

><p>"How could you just let him die like that?"<p>

"I'm sorry Ellie. There was no way we could get to him," Chuck explained. They had found temporary shelter in the women's bathroom. Casey was keeping watch outside while Chuck and Sarah were trying to comfort Ellie. Jeff, meanwhile, was studying the bathroom as if it was the inside of Buckingham Palace.

"He was very brave," Sarah added. "He chose to sacrifice himself for all of us. But Chuck's right. We didn't have a choice."

Ellie sniffed. "Well we'd better find a way to make it meaningful, then. Destroy those things."

"We will."

Ellie nodded, and wiped the tears from her face. "You know, I always kind of knew he wasn't as smart as he let on. It took him a week to figure out how to plug in the baby monitor."

"He was never good enough for you," Casey said, stepping back into the bathroom. He gave her a smile. "You need a real man."

"Really, John?" Ellie shot back. "My husband has been dead for five minutes, and you're already hitting on me?"

"I call 'em like I see 'em." Casey looked at the others. "The coast is still clear. We're going to need to move."

"But where?" Sarah asked. "And how do we get rid of these things? We don't have any weapons left."

"Actually, I may have a plan," Chuck said. Once he had everyone's attention, he continued. "Correct me if I'm wrong Casey, but zombies aren't generally the quickest of thinkers."

"It's like they tell you first day's training. Zombies – smarter than yetis, dumber than a swamp troll."

"You know, Casey, one of these days we're going to have to sit down and fill in some of the gaps in your back story. Just not now," Chuck added when the other man grunted in annoyance.

"So, we also know that these particular zombies only pick on the, um…" he looked helplessly at his sister, "less reliant on traditional types of reasoning. So…that would mean that the zombies hunting us are, well, kind of stupid. And we should be able to exploit that. Set a trap that shouldn't actually fool anyone in their right mind, but actually would work on them."

He explained his idea a bit further, until he came up to the one stumbling block. "But we need bait. Somebody they'll want to eat."

"Somebody stupid enough to meet their dietary requirements," Casey added.

A second later, they heard footsteps outside. Casey and Sarah moved to opposite sides of the door, ready to strike, when the door opened.

"Hey guys," Morgan's head popped inside. "What are you all doing in here?"

* * *

><p>"I'm not so sure I like this."<p>

"You just need to get their attention, and then get away as quickly as you can," Chuck reminded Morgan. "They're zombies, so they don't move that fast."

"I get the concept, I just don't like the implications of being picked for this particular assignment."

Chuck couldn't blame his friend for that. As if the insult of being told that you would have to risk your life as an enticement for health-conscious zombies wasn't bad enough, he then had the added injury of knowing everyone thought he was stupid enough to meet the zombies' strange cravings.

At the moment the two of them were alone in the bathroom. Everyone else had gone in search of the materials they'd need to set up Chuck's plan, so it had fallen on him to psych up his friend for playing his less-than-desirable role.

"You'd think Casey could have been a little nicer about it. I _am_ dating his daughter."

That might not be a coincidence, Chuck thought to himself.

"And you know, I have been working on becoming more of an intellectual. Alex and I have had long talks about politics and stuff. And we do Sudoku together."

"Look at it this way, Buddy," Chuck said. "These zombies are dumb, right? So they might not be able to grasp your subtle level of intelligence."

Morgan seemed to feel better about that. "Just as long as they don't grasp any of the rest of me either. But are you sure this will work? Cause it kind of seems like one of those plans that fails in every episode of Scooby-Doo. Maybe we should set up some signs. 'Brains this way,' or something."

"Yeah I'm not sure they'll be able to read them."

"Maybe if we spell brains with a Z?"

Chuck shook his head. "Sorry Morgan, I think we'll have to do it the hard way."

"Figures," Morgan shook his head sadly. "So these things were really created from that sandwich place?"

"Yup."

"Well, I'm glad for my all cheeseburger and cheesy puff diet then. Hey, I wonder if singing that place's jingle will help them go after me. You know, "Five, Five dol-"

"Just stick to the plan," Chuck interrupted. "And get away as soon as you can."

"Ok," Morgan said as he headed toward the door. "You know, maybe Casey was right. I can't be _that_ smart, seeing as that I agreed to do this."

"You'll be fine."

They both left the bathroom, and Chuck watched his friend walk down the hall. After a moment, he heard Morgan yell, "Boy it's hard to find my way around here! It's really hurting my fresh, juicy, underutilized brain. I'd bet if I didn't drop out of community college I'd be smart enough not to get lost. And I need to get out of here soon, so I can watch the rest of that 'Jersey Shore' marathon."

Sure enough, the answering growl came a moment later. "Brainsss! Hearty, lean brainsss!"

The trap had been sprung.

* * *

><p>With the zombies on their way, Chuck ran off to meet the others. He didn't see anyone until Sarah poked her head out of a broom closet.<p>

"Is everything set?" Chuck asked when he was safely inside.

"Pretty much," Sarah responded. "Casey is downstairs, shutting off the main controls. So it should just be a matter of time."

A loud belch caught Chuck's attention, and he turned to see Jeff lying face down on the floor. "He found some rubbing alcohol while we were looking for the printer," Ellie rolled her eyes.

"Morgan's on his way, so I'd better keep an eye out in case there's trouble." Chuck cracked the closet door open. The sound of footsteps, accompanied by a cacophony of undead groans, was rapidly approaching. Finally, Morgan came into view, and Chuck held out his hand.

"Oh thank God!" Morgan yelled. "An elevator!" He then ducked inside the closet with Chuck and they waited.

A moment later, they could hear the sound of moaning and dragging feet, followed by a series of loud crashes. The silence then returned, and Chuck and the others waited for any sounds of life, or former life.

About two minutes later, outside movement caused Chuck to tense. He whirled around, searching for any type of makeshift weapon, before finally settling for a mop. He crouched down in attack position when the footsteps got louder. Finally, the door opened.

Casey smirked when he saw Chuck. "You can quit hiding now. They're gone." He cast an upward glance at Chuck's mop. "You may want to bring that. They made quite a mess."

Sighing with relief, Chuck left the closet and followed Casey down the hallway. Everyone else, other than a now-unconscious Jeff, followed him out.

As they neared the end of the hallway, Chuck could see the results of his plan. The elevator doors were open, but all that could be seen was the darkness of the emptiness down below. A life-size picture of Morgan was pasted on the wall. Chuck never would have guessed it when he took it with his cell phone at last year's Comic-Con, but the picture of his best friend and his goofy smile had saved them all.

He peeked down the empty elevator shaft, but the darkness was too thick for him to see. Still, as far as Chuck could tell, his plan had worked. The zombies were gone, a bunch of undead remains piled at the bottom. "Well, I guess it worked."

"Yeah, I guess those zombies were as dumb as you said," Morgan commented.

"Brainsss! Awesomely wholesome brains…!"

Everyone whirled around to see one last remaining zombie standing in the hallway.

As zombies go, Devon Woodcomb was in great shape. Even with a large chunk of his neck gone, his complexion still looked somewhat healthy, and he moved with a more steady gait than the usual zombie shuffle. He also seemed to have lost his shirt, and the evidence of his regular exercise regimen was in full display.

"It doesn't look like the disease has taken full effect yet," Sarah commented.

"I guess Frat Boy's smarter than the average deadhead," Casey marveled. "Gotta give him some respect for that. But now I'll have to take care of him, before he tries to turn our heads into some sort of brain protein shake." He began to move towards Zombie Devon.

"No!"

Everyone turned to Ellie. "I know he was your husband," Sarah said. "But that's not him anymore."

"I know that," Ellie replied, her hands by her side. "But if anyone's going to do this, it has to be me." She reached into her purse and removed a gun.

"Uh Ellie, where did you get that?" Chuck asked.

"One of the … dead ones, in the operating theatre. He used to be a security guard. I took it from him."

"Are you sure you want to do this, Ellie?" Chuck asked. "If you want me to…"

"No, let her do it," Casey said, approaching her. "Just hold it steady, and squeeze the trigger. Aim for the head. It'll be quicker that way."

Ellie nodded wordlessly. "Brainsss!" Devon uttered as he continued his approach.

The gun fired, but missed. Devon only seemed to renew his efforts.

"Brainsss! Rockingly nourishing brainsss!"

"Oh God," Ellie said. "I don't know if I can do this."

"Just relax and aim," Casey said.

This time, Ellie's aim was on target, and the bullet hit zombie Devon in the shoulder. His movement slowed, but he didn't stop. Chuck watched as his sister moved her gun downward, tears streaming down her cheek. "Ellie!" he yelled. "You have to do it!"

Ellie sighed, and fired, this time aiming perfectly.

* * *

><p>The sandwich shop looked like a war zone. The neon lights on the sign were out, and the 'B' had fallen to the ground. The flowers lining the entrance had all been trampled or ripped out from the roots. The windows were boarded up.<p>

Chuck tried the door. "Locked," he said to the others.

Once they'd finally managed to get out of the hospital, they'd agreed that they needed to investigate the source of the outbreak. Chuck had managed to convince his sister to go home, leaving Sarah, Casey and Morgan to investigate the restaurant. They'd kept an eye out for more zombies on the road, but other than a single one that met the wrong end of the El Camino, the town of Burbank seemed to be undead-free.

That didn't seem to be true of the sub place, though. Through the door, Chuck could hear groans and crashing sounds. He knocked on the door.

After a few more loud sounds of destruction, a voice replied, "We're closed!"

"We aren't hungry!" Chuck replied.

"Speak for yourself," Morgan muttered behind him.

"We're here to help!" Chuck added. "And we're not zombies!"

Finally, a figure came into view, and opened the door. It was clear he'd been having a rough day. His dark hair was matted with sweat, and his glasses were askew. He was tall and thin, though he had the bearing of someone that used to carry a lot more weight. "You've seen zombies?" he asked.

"A whole bunch at the hospital," Chuck responded. "They've been taken care of."

"Good," the man responded. "I've gotten rid of what I can. The rest," he pointed to the back, where the sound of moaning and banging seemed to be coming from, "are in the bathrooms."

"The rest?" Chuck asked. "You mean all of the remaining zombies? How did you get them back here?"

The man smiled. "We made a commercial. Said that the Kardashians were going to be signing autographs here. That seemed to do the trick."

"Clever," Casey commented. "But this whole thing started right here. So you're responsible for this."

The man looked down. "I know." He sat down at one of the restaurant's small tables. "I just wanted something new. Can you imagine what it's like having the same sandwiches day in, day out? When the most exciting decision is whether to add banana peppers or not? Then I heard about this new mystery meat…"

"From Kazakhstan," Casey interrupted.

"That's right," the man looked up. "I ordered some, just to see what it would be like. We decided to pilot it at this restaurant, to see how it would be received. Unfortunately, it turned out to be pretty popular. I never even got to try any myself."

The man stood up. "That's the story. Now, you really have to leave here, so I can clean up the mess I made. He walked over behind the counter, and turned on the oven. Soon the telltale sound of hissing gas could be heard. "Go, please!"

Chuck decided the man meant business, and stood up. "We should probably go."

"Via con dios," Casey said as they were leaving. Chuck turned around just as he was opening the door. The man had just retrieved a lighter from the cash register.

Once they were at the other end of the parking lot, the air erupted with a large boom.

"That was one crazy sonofabitch. Knew a guy like that back in 1995. Took out a whole nest of vampires himself."

Chuck was impressed. "Seriously?"

"No, Dumbass. Everybody knows there's no such thing as vampires."

* * *

><p>Jeff awoke to a massive pounding in his head. He forced himself to his feet, trying to remember how he had wound up in a supply closet. After a couple minutes of fumbling around, he found the door and wandered out into the long hallway.<p>

Everything was strangely quiet, which amplified the one sound he could hear to a deafening level. The growling of his stomach was like a roar, and one he couldn't ignore. He needed to find some food.

Because the elevator seemed to not be working, he ended up taking the stairs all the way down to the lobby. The long trek downward certainly didn't help his hunger. Jeff managed to figure out that he was in a hospital, which wasn't the greatest news when it came to food. Jell-o wasn't going to get the job done.

Fortunately, there was an unclaimed sandwich standing upon the counter of the reception area. "Score!" Jeff said to himself, as he grabbed it.

In the back of his mind, there was a nagging feeling that there was some reason he shouldn't be eating this sandwich. It took a bit of hard thinking to figure out what it was. The sandwich probably didn't fit in with his vegan diet.

Jeff shrugged. "Can't be a vegan every day," he said as he took a large bit out of the sandwich.

**The End?**

* * *

><p><em>So, just to set the record straight, I don't actually think that Devon, Morgan, Big Mike, or Lester are actually dumb. Ok, maybe Lester. And of course I have nothing but the highest respect for nurses, a job that requires an amazing amount of patience, dedication, and intelligence. I just felt the need to include Kelly the nurse, a character that has shown up in four of my stories now. And despite her recent history of hooking up with Roan Montgomery, going on an awkward blind date with Casey, and getting eaten by zombies, apparently I have nothing against her either. I'm just too lazy or dumb to come up with new character names. So really, the zombies should be coming after me.<em>

_And I also have nothing against the submarine sandwich business that I seem to be hinting at throughout the story. I have frequented it many times, and have yet to turn into a zombie._

_And as for the easy targets of the Kardashians and "Jersey Shore," what can I say, I guess I like the easy targets. It doesn't mean I'm dumb or anything. Now, if I could only figure out what all those zombies are doing outside my door…_


	3. Hey Hey, It's the Monkey's Paw

**Hey Hey, It's the Monkeys Paw**

_I don't own "Chuck", and I don't and I didn't write or create the story "The Monkey's Paw" – that was written by W. W. Jacobs back in 1902._

_I also don't know, and am not any of the people referenced in the story. _

* * *

><p><strong>October 27, 2011<strong>

"Um, guys? Couldn't you at least _try_ to look busy?"

Lester Patel flipped off his headphones and gave his so-called manager a dirty look. Grimes really had let the power get to his head. It wasn't like anyone could see them back here in the cage, so why wouldn't they spend the time scouting for new music, or in the case of his partner, napping? "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he replied.

"Well…yes. I guess I would like it if you did your job." Grimes seemed to be finding his self-confidence. "We have to get all of these recycled computers inventoried and ready to head on out."

"Recycling," Lester snorted. "Global warming is a myth perpetuated by our government, like the moon landing, …"

"And giraffes," a barely-awake voice came from behind.

"Exactly, Jeffrey." Sometimes it was best to humor his compatriot and band mate.

"Well, myth or not," Grimes said, "we need to get them out of here."

"But look at these things," Lester waved an arm at the off-white towers and bulky monitors stacked around the cage area. He pointed over at one particularly ancient specimen. "I mean that one there looks like it's from the 80s!"

Grimes shrugged. "Well so's most of Jeffster's set list. You should be right at home with it. Just finish up sometime today. Please." The bearded Napoleon headed back into the showroom.

"How'd he ever get that job?" Lester grumbled. "He must have slept with somebody. That should have been me! I mean the sleeper, not the sleepee," he added to Jeff, but he didn't seem to be paying attention.

Lester decided to take a closer look at the ancient computer. He wiped the dust off of the old computer, exposing the Kaypro logo, several dents, and what appeared to be a coffee stain. Otherwise, it seemed to be in pretty good shape. On a whim, he decided to plug it in and see if it still ran. The computer let out the telltale beep of life, and Lester had to admit he was impressed.

"You think he's right?"

Lester glanced up from the green words on the monitor. It was mid-afternoon, which meant Jeff was at his most lucid. "Right about what?"

"All our stuff being from the 80s. You know, old?"

"Why mess with classics?"

"Well, I've kind of been tinkering around a bit. With some songs of my own. I was thinking, maybe we could try them some time?"

Lester realized he'd better nip this in the bud quickly. There can only be one visionary per band, and he had that role filled. "Sure, maybe someday. But I've just come to realize exactly what Jeffster needs."

"What's that?"

"Falco. More Falco."

Jeff looked a bit disappointed, but didn't argue. "You're the boss."

"Yes I am." Lester looked back at the ancient computer. It took some brain wracking to remember his DOS, but he finally recalled the command to do a directory search. The hard drive was empty, other than one program – .

Might as well see what it is, Lester decided, and typed in the name. The screen went blank, other than a single blinking sentence. "WHAT IS YOUR WISH?"

Must be a game, Lester figured. Well, an honest question deserves an honest answer. "Fame and fortune," he typed.

The screen went blank again. After a few minutes of waiting, he unplugged the computer, and put it aside. Fame and fortune seemed to be in short supply for the moment.

After about an hour, he yawned and stretched. "That's a good enough day's work, Jeffrey," he said. "How about we head off to Benny's?"

"Cool."

Lester shut off the light, leaving the cage. In the corner, the old monitor blinked back to life. A single word appeared on screen. "Granted."

* * *

><p>Lester stared at the blackness of his coffee, trying to keep his eyelids from drooping. It had been a long night. Ten minutes of solid rehearsal, surrounded by five hours of solid drinking. And now he was paying for it. The daily grind really didn't suit his rock-n-roll lifestyle.<p>

Of course, Grimes had been flittering around all morning, keeping an eye on him. He wasn't sure what the so-called manager wanted from him. It' wasn't like he was going to puke on a customer or anything. He hadn't done that in a good two weeks.

The sound of a throat clearing took Lester's mind away from avoiding work. He looked up to see a man standing there, impeccably dressed in a suit that Lester could only guess cost most of his own Buy More salary. He knew what that meant. A lawyer. Which either meant that a customer was bringing a lawsuit, or one of his many lady friends wanted him to take a paternity test. Neither of which he welcomed. He quickly jumped to attention. "How can I help you?"

"Are you Lester Patel, and…" The man craned his neck to look down at the snoring figure inside the Nerd Herd Bay. "Jeffrey Barnes?"

Lester considered lying, but realized he'd made the mistake of putting on his name plate this morning. He was trapped. "Yes?"

The suit held out his hand. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Bill Z. Bubb, Jr., and I'm with Mephisto records. I happened on one of your band's clips on , and I have to say I was impressed. Very impressed."

Of course. The only other people who dressed like lawyers were record executives. Lester knew that the best strategy to adopt now was to play hard-to-get. "Mephisto records, huh? Well, I should tell you that we have heard from some other labels, so you'd better be prepared to fight for us."

"Well, of course, of course. I am prepared to do whatever it takes to bring you two into the Mephisto family. We are prepared to make sure you go all the way to the top. The way I see it," Bubb leaned onto the bay, "you guys are the next big thing. Reality TV singers performing old songs, glee clubs performing old songs, that's all yesterday's news. Power duos performing old songs? That's tomorrow's sound."

Sloan fished a card out of his wallet and handed it to Lester. "You want fame and fortune kid, you call me." He turned around and marched back out of the store.

"What was that about?" Jeff asked sleepily while Lester stared at the card.

"Fame and fortune," Lester replied. He turned over to his friend. "I think we might have just found our big break. Which means only one thing."

"What's that?"

"It's time to quit our jobs."

"Oh, okay."

Lester stepped outside of the bay and went to find Grimes. As he passed the entrance to the cage, he stopped. "Actually, Jeffrey, why don't you go first. There's something I forgot back in there, and I really should go get it before we leave."

* * *

><p><strong>January 14, 2013<strong>

"Hi, this is Jane Stevens with 'Entertainment Today.' I'm here with the two extraordinarily talented men behind Jeffster – Lester Patel and Jeffrey Barnes."

"Hello America," Lester smiled into the camera.

"Howdy," Jeff croaked.

"Now guys, this last year has been quite the whirlwind, hasn't it? Your album "Songs In the Key of Jeffster" has been number one for weeks. You've had number one singles, a sold-out tour, you've played yourselves on an episode of 'NCIS,' the list goes on. In your wildest dreams, did you ever envision something like this happening to you?"

"I've always thought my life was a TV show," Jeff responded.

Lester chuckled, and pushed his shades down slightly to look into the camera. "What my partner is saying is that we always knew we had the talent and the drive to make it big, and we're thrilled that the rest of the world has finally caught up with us."

Jane smiled. "You boys, cheeky as always. But surely you never could have imagined all of the Grammy nominations?"

Lester leaned back in his chair. "It's always great to be recognized by our peers," Lester responded. "Even if there are fewer and fewer that can claim to _be_ our peers now."

"We're humbled," Jeff added.

Jane pushed away a strand of blonde hair that had escaped from her carefully sculpted coif. "I think the next question on all your fans' minds is what comes next. Will there be a new album, and will there be some original songs on this one?"

"Well actually, I have been working on a few things-"

"Yeah, Jeffrey's tinkered around a bit on the piano," Lester interrupted his friend. "But I think we as a band need to be true to our muse. And I think that's going to be clear from our next album, which I'm quite excited about." He leaned in to the interviewer. "It's a concept album, with all Foreigner covers."

"Ooh, a concept album, very exciting!" Jane replied. "What's the concept?"

Lester stared at her blankly. "Covers of Foreigner songs."

Slightly at a loss, Jane glanced around the studio. "Now here's something I really need to ask," she finally said. "Is there a story behind that?" she pointed at the old Kaypro standing off to one corner.

Lester looked a bit uncomfortable by the question, but finally responded. "That is a reminder, Jane. See, we used to toil in a Buy More before our greatness was finally discovered. That old computer is a reminder of what we used to be. It keeps us real."

"Well, that's quite refreshing." Jane glanced at her watch. "I have time for one more question, and I know I'm going to have to go with the one everybody's dying to know about, Lester. You and Miley Cyrus. Are the rumors true?"

Lester chuckled. "Oh, Jane. We are just friends, navigating the hardships of the music industry together. I'm sorry to disappoint you, our fans, and all the gossip hounds out there."

"Well there you have it," Jane said to the camera. "Lester Patel, and Jeff Barnes. Two of the most exciting people in music today."

When the camera shut off, the interviewer quickly packed up her things, muttering something about having to go meet Ryan Reynolds for scones. A few minutes later, Lester and Jeff were alone in the studio again.

"What was all that about your own songs?" Lester asked his band mate. "You know our agreement, I do the talking in interviews."

Jeff shrugged. "Well, I _have_ been working on new songs. Have you listened to any of the recording I gave you?"

"Jeffrey, Jeffrey. You know how busy I've been. It's not like I had any idea that Will.'s party would last until 3 last night."

"Ok, I get it. Just promise me you'll give them a listen. I could even put them on that dusty old computer you say is keeping you real."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. Why don't you go have a beer and relax. I promise I'll listen to your stuff tonight."

Once Jeff had left, Lester went over to the old computer, and caressed the CPU lovingly. Who would ever believe their success was due to this old relic, he thought. All it took was one wish.

Well, two wishes now, he reminded himself. The second one had turned out as well as the first. He pulled out his phone and dialed.

"Hey there, Honey. We going to meet tonight?... Awesome, I can hardly wait. Oh, and Sweetiepie? Can you bring the Hannah Montana wig with you this time? Terrific."

Yup, definitely two for two on the wishes.

* * *

><p><strong>November 8, 2013<strong>

"And I want you to know that we are in this together," Lester solemnly promised. "We are a team, and no matter what happens, nothing will ever change that."

"And…cut! Excellent job, everyone!" Lester relaxed, and headed over to the craft service table. "I think that's a wrap for today."

Lester looked up from the candy bowl in surprise. "We're done? What do you mean?"

"I think we've put in a good day's work, Lester," the director replied. "You did excellent work."

"Oh I know _that_. It's mister 'My Left Foot' over there I'm worried about. I think he was coasting."

"Oh well, I'm not sure…"

"Look, Marty, I know you're the director and all, but I am an Executive Producer on this, and that means I get to execute all the people working on this film. Bringing the life of Daryl Hall to the big screen has always been my life's dream, and to do that, we need an Oates that shares my vision. So bring him back!"

"Gosh, I wish I could Lester, but I think he's already left for the day. We can redo some of today's scenes tomorrow."

Lester sighed. "Fine, whatever. I guess we have to make allowances for those with less talent." He headed back to the craft service table, grabbed a handful of green M&Ms, and left the studio.

He found his chauffer waiting for him outside. "Driver, take me home."

"Of course, Sir."

Lester studied his employee critically as they headed to the limo. "I thought I told you to shave off that stupid beard."

"Sir, is that really necessary?"

"I'm paying your salary, Grimes. So what I say goes." Lester hopped into the back seat, and helped himself to the decanter of Peppermint Schnapps.

"I will do it tomorrow, Sir," Morgan said from the front seat. "Oh, by the way, you have several messages from your publicist. You need to call her right away."

Lester sighed. Never a moment to himself. He picked up the limo phone and dialed. "Yes, Nadine, what is it? Leaked? Are you sure? … No, I think I know how it happened. I'll take care of it." He pounded the receiver back into its cradle.

"Driver, take me to the recording studio."

* * *

><p>Lester found his partner in one of the soundproof rooms. He grabbed the headphones off of his head, and tossed them aside.<p>

"Hey, Lester. Something wrong?"

"Of course there's something wrong! Did you leak some tracks online, claiming they're from the new Jeffster album?"

"Well…I did leak them. But I never claimed they were Jeffster, just that they were by me. Apparently the blogosphere connected the dots."

Lester shook his head. "How many times have I told you, Jeffrey, the decisions on music are mine and mine alone. And your…songs," he wrinkled his nose, "are not Jeffster."

"But they're good songs. I swear!"

Lester stomped back and forth across the small room. "You and I both know there is only one visionary in this group. And that's me. So while your little songs might sound nice and pretty to you, you have to realize that your opinion doesn't actually mean anything."

"Did you like them?"

"Well…"

"You never listened to them, did you?" Jeff protested. "Man, this is exactly just what Winona said would happen."

Lester rolled his eyes. "I knew I never should have let you date her."

"What do you mean, let?" Jeff was getting angry, something Lester had only seen when last call had arrived while his friend was still sober.

"Look, Jeffrey. We'll talk about this tomorrow. Maybe we can come up with some sort of compromise. But for now, we need to get those songs off the internet before they go viral."

Jeff looked like he was going to protest, but finally relented. When he was satisfied that his partner had calmed down, Lester went home. Once he was back in his penthouse, he knew what he needed to do. Fortunately, Miley was currently on tour, so he had the place to himself.

He entered the study, and pushing aside the various Grammys, American Music Awards, and People's Choice Awards, he found the old computer. Switching it on, he typed in the command, and when prompted, typed "I want to go solo."

* * *

><p>A loud knocking awoke Lester from his slumber. Grumbling to himself, he tossed aside the covers, and stepped out of his four-poster waterbed. "Yeah, yeah, what is it?"<p>

Once he'd reached the foyer, he tugged open the door and found his chief roadie/head of security waiting for him. "Casey! What the hell is it?"

"Sir! I have terrible news! There's been an accident!"

At first, Lester assumed the big man was kidding. But he'd never actually seen Casey make a joke, so it didn't seem likely. And as he considered that, a disturbing thought occurred to him.

"Excuse me," he said, and shut the door back in Casey's face.

Rushing back to the study, he turned on the old Kaypro, and waited impatiently for it to boot up. There had to be some sort undo function in the program. After what seemed like an eternity, he reached the file menu, and typed in the name of the program.

"File not found," the screen responded.

Lester tried again, but got the same result. "This can't be!" He tried pounding on the screen, but of course this failed as well. Finally, defeated, he slumped to the ground. He had killed his best friend.

With his head in his hands, Lester didn't see the error message on the screen briefly shift from green to red.

* * *

><p><strong>June 12, 2014<strong>

"_The new album totally sucks! Nobody wants 80s covers anymore!"_ – Musicfan314

" _I guess we know who the real talent in Jeffster was. Without Jeff Barnes, this band is toast!"_ – Barnesfan4eva

"_My SmartPhone got dumber just from downloading this!" – _JeffBRox

"_At least I didn't pay for the album. I actually spent 10 bucks on Patel's crappy movie." _– PatelH8r999

"_Lester sucks!" – _WWJacobs1902

Lester took another swig from the nearby bottle as he continued to peruse the comments. They didn't get any better. It seemed like everybody with an internet connection had hated 'Double Wishin: Jeffster's Salute to Foreigner.' He was so immersed in the outpouring of communal hatred, that he didn't hear the footsteps behind him.

"That stuff isn't doing you any good," Casey rumbled behind him.

"What, the schnapps or the online message board?"

"Neither," Casey took the bottle from Lester. "You need to clean yourself up. Get over this." The big man winced. "And take a shower."

"Yeah, I know. We got the San Diego show tomorrow night."

"Actually, San Diego cancelled," Morgan said as he entered the room. "Your publicist mentioned it while she was resigning yesterday. San Diego's off. Same with Albuquerque and Reno."

Lester tried to reach for the bottle, but Casey pulled it away. "Now what do I do?" he protested.

"What you do is stop feeling sorry for yourself," Morgan answered while attempting, and failing, to get Lester onto his feet. "So your second album flopped. So your movie tanked."

"I can't believe people aren't interested in the life story of Hall & Oates," Lester commented. "I'll never understand the bourgeois tastes of the American movie-going public," Lester commented.

"At least Day-Lewis got nominated," Casey interjected. "He made good Oates."

"Not helping, Casey," Morgan said. "Now where was I? Oh right, so you've hit a rough patch in your career. And yeah, your girlfriend left you for an 'Underpants, etc.' catalog model. And yeah, the bank foreclosed on your house."

"Those people wouldn't understand a work of architectural genius if it landed on their heads," Lester muttered.

"Not sure a replica of the house from 'The Flintstones' qualifies as architectural genius," Casey replied.

"Philistines. And aren't you supposed to be making me feel better?" Lester protested. "Or at least telling me I what I should do?"

"Well, you know I have been thinking about that. And I found this," Morgan handed a printout to Lester.

Lester glanced at the paper, and tossed it aside. "Are you kidding? I'm not doing 'Celebrity Tech Support!'" Lester exclaimed.

"Hey, it'll be like going back home again," Morgan said, trying to make Lester feel better. "Recharging your batteries. Revisiting some you do well."

"He never did before."

"Casey!" Morgan admonished. "Look, Lester, you've been in a bit of a slump since Jeff died. We get that. But remember, everybody loves a comeback story," Morgan leaned in to Lester to emphasize his point. "And this is your way back. You just need to clean yourself up some first," he quickly backed away. "And maybe get yourself back in prime computer-fixing shape."

"Sure," Casey commented. "You can practice by fixing that old relic you've been toting around."

Lester's eyes narrowed. Fixing the old computer might just be the answer. Not as a way to prepare for some stupid reality show, though. "You guys are right!" he announced. "I'll get working on it right away!"

* * *

><p>Lester worked on the old computer for three days straight. At the end of the third day, he realized that he might be more successful if he tried it sober, and tried it that way for another three days. He had never spent so much time trying to repair a computer, even when he repaired them for a living.<p>

Finally, once he'd taken apart and put back together the CPU, updated the processor, added more memory, and re-attached several loose pieces with crazy glue and chewing gum, he decided the computer was ready. He pressed the on button, holding his breath.

Sure enough, the directory once again listed the elusive . When prompted for his wish, Lester typed in "I want Jeff back."

Nothing happened. Lester sighed, but decided he should wait around in case his friend got lost. It wouldn't be the first time. He used to get lost in the Buy More parking lot at least once a week.

After about a half hour of waiting, Lester began to feel his eyelids droop. Just as he was nodding off, though, a bitter chill hit the hotel room.

Shivering, Lester stood up to check the thermostat. It was clearly broken, as it claimed the room was a comfortable 72 degrees. He sighed. This had never been a problem in his Flintstones house. Still, it was clearly cold outside, judging by the wind howling outside. The windows mustn't be providing much insulation. He definitely needed to find a new hotel room; unfortunately he wasn't sure he could afford one. Maybe he'd see if he could bunk in with Morgan or Casey.

As he went to find a blanket, Lester thought he heard scratching outside the hotel room door. "Who's there?" he asked.

The scuffling sound continued. Lester slowly approached the door, listening closely. He could hear wheezing. A familiar-sounding wheezing, and it reminded him about the wish he'd just made. "Jeffrey?"

There was no answer, but the scratching continued. Lester thought back to the last wishes he'd made on that computer. He'd always gotten what he asked for, but there'd always been a price. What if that had happened again?

"Oh God," Lester said, "Jeff's a zombie!"

"Dude," a familiar voice came from outside, "zombies are _so_ last chapter."

"What?"

The door opened, and Jeff walked in. Or at least a version of Jeff, one with the complexion of bread that had been sitting out for three months He dropped down on the couch, and said between hacking coughs, "Hey, Lester."

"Jeff, is that you? Are you alive?"

"Yes. And no," Jeff replied, putting his feet up on the coffee table.

"Then you are dead. I killed you," Lester sunk down to the floor.

"Well, technically, the tractor trailer killed me. But you did kind of help."

"Yeah, sorry about that."

"Eh," Jeff shrugged. "What can you do?"

Lester studied his friend closely. His complexion was definitely more ashen than usual, but he'd never exactly been photogenic. And he seemed fairly coherent, which probably meant that the beer supply was low among the deceased. And judging by the fact that he hadn't sunk into the couch, he seemed to be fully corporeal. This was good news; it meant he was still in full keytar-playing shape.

"This is great! We can get Jeffster back together!"

Jeff's response was quick and decisive. "I think I'll pass on that."

"Pass? What do you mean?"

"In case you haven't noticed, people love me now. A lot more than they love you."

"It'll pass. You wrote two songs. Nothing to get excited over."

"How would you know? You never listened to them." Jeff waved this away with a gray hand. "But I'm not mad any more. I've got a new band now."

Lester blinked. "A new band?"

"Yup, and it's great. I get to sing and everything. It's me, Jimi Hendrix on guitar, Keith Moon on drums, Louis Armstrong on trumpet and backing vocals, and Joey Sebastian Bach on keyboards. Best of all we play only my songs. Well, occasionally we throw in a fugue or two for Bach's sake. Dude gets touchy. But mostly my stuff."

Lester decided his string of schnapps-free days needed to come to an end, and went in search of a bottle. When he found one, he offered his one-time friend a swig.

"No thanks. It stems the creative flow. Look, if you're finished with the whole'wishing I was back' thing, I kind of need to get going." Jeff slowly stood up, making a disturbingly loud creaking sound.

"You're leaving?"

"Yeah. Got a date with Billie Holliday tonight, so I gotta get ready for that." As he was leaving, he turned around and said, "You know, you should really do that reality show thing. I think you'd like it."

* * *

><p><strong>October 24, 2014<strong>

"Hey man, what's with the camera?"

Lester ignored the question, and entered the dorm room, not bothering to hold the door open for the "Celebrity Tech Support" cameraman. The three occupants of the room seemed like they'd been partying for a while, and were only vaguely aware of their surroundings. "So, where's the laptop?" he asked.

"In my room," one of the college kids answered. "Hope you can figure out what's up with it."

"Hey Mike!" the second kid burst out as Lester was following the first one, "I think this is like some reality show or something. And I totally recognize this dude. He's, uh…"

Lester was tempted to help him, but felt a bit too much pride to help the boy with his clearly impaired memory issues. He followed the first kid into a small bedroom, and took a look around. The college student pointed to the infected laptop, standing in the corner of a large desk. Hanging on the wall over the desk was a large blacklight poster, with an artist's rendering of John Lennon, Tupac, Kurt Cobain, and Jeff Barnes standing arm-in-arm. "We will never disappear" was written in large letters atop the poster.

The looked back at the camera, forcing his best 'I'm just here to help' smile. The other two students had also entered the small room, and were watching with mild interest.

"Nah," the first kid said to his friends. "I think it's the guy from 'Slumdog Millionaire.' He's really let himself go."

Lester wanted to tell the kid off, or at the very least install a virus onto his laptop. But at the moment, he was running neck-and-neck with Cyndi Lauper and Lou Diamond Phillips for last place on the show, and didn't want to get voted off. So, he'd have to be on his best behavior. "This should be no problem, but I'll just need a little space to work on it."

The kids didn't take the hint at first, but finally after watching Lester click through directories for a few minutes, they got bored and left. Lester looked back at the camera, cracked his knuckles theatrically and got to work.

Apparently, he wouldn't have needed to install a virus onto the laptop, as it was full of them already. He found several offending files interspersed among the downloaded porn and pirated movie clips, and removed them in turn.

Lester had almost completed cleansing the hard drive when he noticed one odd file that he couldn't quite identify. The file, named , was stored in a separate directory. He tried deleting it, but the file only reappeared a second later. He tried again, and the same thing happened. After failing for a third time, he glanced at the small icon, picturing a tiny oil lamp. Something clicked in his head. "A magic lamp," he muttered to himself.

He retrieved a flash drive from his equipment bag. "I'll need to study this file more closely," he said to the camera, as he copied the mysterious file. He was probably saving the college kid some heartache by removing the file anyway. In fact, he was going above and beyond the call of service. And if he could use the file to regain his spot on top of the music world, so much the better. He finished copying the file, and put away the flash drive.

"Hey 'Slumdog' dude, you fix my computer?" the college kid shouted as Lester was leaving.

"Yeah, you're all set." Actually, Lester had left a couple of viruses on the kid's computer. It didn't matter now; he didn't need to win the stupid show any more. He was on the cusp of a major comeback. All he had to do was wish for it.

* * *

><p><em>Bwaahaahaa – I hope you've recovered from the sheer terror you felt when reading this. Especially the part about Lester and Miley Cyrus. Seriously, try picturing something more frightening than that. Eat your heart out, "Paranormal Activity 3."<em>

_As always, reviews, scary or otherwise, are greatly valued._

_Stay tuned for Halloween night, when the Buy More of the Bloodcurdling comes to its_ _frightening and generally disconcerting conclusion!_


	4. What'd You Expect, Her Name is Samantha

**What'd You Expect, Her Name _is_ Samantha**

_For what it's worth. I took some liberties with the timeline here. It's present time, but Chuck and Sarah still work for the CIA. I figured given everything else in the story, that should be the easiest part to buy into. _

* * *

><p>"Honey, we need to talk."<p>

"Ok, sure thing. Wait…what?" Chuck immediately popped out of the covers when the ominous nature of the words kicked in. He turned to look at his wife. "What is it?"

Sarah put a comforting hand on Chuck's shoulder as she sat up, plopping a pillow behind her back. "Well, Chuck, you know how you've wanted to know more about my past, and I've been holding back?"

Chuck nodded.

"Well, we're married now, which means we share everything. So I've decided to tell you everything about my family and my past."

Chuck smiled. These were words he'd been waiting to hear for years. "Well, only if you feel comfortable with it," he said, trying unsuccessfully to temper his enthusiasm.

"I think I do." Sarah turned to Chuck, giving him a long, piercing look. "Here's the thing, Chuck." She looked away again, struggling to decide what to say. Finally, she added, "You know how I'm not like other girls."

"I'll say," Chuck replied drily.

"Well, I'm _really_ not like other girls." Sarah turned back to look back at her husband, but she pointed past him towards the end table. "You remember that night?"

Chuck looked to see where she was referring. Sarah was pointing to the old Halloween picture, when she'd donned the Princess Leia outfit to give him a real memento of their then-fake relationship.

Suddenly, the picture moved up into the air, floating over Chuck's head and into Sarah's hands. "We should have a party like that this Halloween," she added as the picture fell into her hands. "Keep the tradition alive."

Chuck stared at his wife, mouth agape. "Did that just…Did you…What….Huh?" Finally, Chuck abandoned his search for words, and took the picture from her. He turned it around a couple of times, looking for a string or wire.

"Give me some credit, Chuck," Sarah said as she watched him. "It took a couple of years to learn how to do that. Without wires."

Chuck finally looked up, his eyes wide. "Wait. Then you're…a, um, a Wiccan?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Chuck can you really seem me holding hands in some circle, chanting about the Mother Goddess or whatever? No, Chuck, I'm a witch."

"Wait, don't be silly. There's no such thing as witches."

The picture left Chuck's hands, and started floating again, moving rapidly back and forth, just inches from his face. "Then how do you explain that?"

"The Intersect is malfunctioning again. That's the only explanation."

"The Intersect was removed from your head, silly."

Chuck shook his head, hoping that he might loosen whatever insanity had just taken up residence in his brain. "But, but you're a CIA Agent!"

"I'm not sure what that has to do anything."

"So all the kickass moves of yours…"

"You didn't think I could do all of that just from training, did you?" Sarah sighed.

"But the kickboxing, and the knives, and that move where you flipped that Hungarian wrestler on his back with just your elbow?"

"Mostly training, yes. But occasionally I threw in a little extra."

"But this is crazy! It doesn't make sense. Wait, are you feeling ok?"

The picture smacked Chuck in the head.

"Look, this conversation isn't going anywhere," Sarah said, returning the picture to the table. "And in case you haven't forgotten, you wanted to know everything about me."

"Well, I wanted to know about your family. Not about how you fly around on a broomstick at night!"

Sarah's gaze turned cold. "Chuck Bartowski, prejudice is the last thing I expected from you."

Chuck inched backwards, imagining what life would be like as a toad. "Sorry," he squeaked. "I don't know what witch stereotypes are real and which ones aren't. I'm new at this."

Sarah's gaze softened. "Well that's why we're talking about it, remember? Look, maybe we should try a different tactic. You want to know about my family. Maybe talking to my mother would help."

"Your mother? Wait, I thought you two weren't talking?" Chuck's surprise made him momentarily forget everything he'd just seen. "We should have invited her to the wedding!"

"We did. You met her. More than once." Sarah turned away, and yelled at the air. "Oh Mom? Could you come here for a sec?"

Immediately, a puff of smoke appeared and spread throughout the room. Chuck squinted, and could just make out a figure within the fog.

"Hey there, Chuckie! How's things?"

* * *

><p>Sarah had been completely correct when she'd said that the Intersect had finally left Chuck's brain for good. It had been months since he'd felt the disorienting rush in his that occurred when he'd flashed. Even though he sometimes missed it, he had accepted that he would never have to feel the weird lightheadedness that only the Intersect could bring on.<p>

At least that was until now, when Sarah's mother appeared from the smoky haze.

"Wait, how can Carina be your mother? She's…she's the same age as you!" Chuck had always thought that the DEA agent was younger than Sarah, but he knew better than to suggest that now.

"Well, Chuck," Carina explained. "You know how some people age more quickly than others? As if they age exponentially?"

Chuck nodded dubiously.

"Well, we age parabolically."

Chuck blinked. A few days ago, he'd have thought that hearing Carina Miller throwing around calculus terms would have shocked him. Now he took it in stride.

Carina turned to Sarah. "So you finally told him, huh?"

"I thought he'd be ready," Sarah looked at her husband accusingly.

"You can't rush things, Dear. These things take time to sink in."

At the moment, Chuck was trying desperately to keep the newfound knowledge that his mother-in-law had once propositioned him from sinking in. He decided questions would help.

"So, this whole witch thing…it's something you inherit?"

"In part, Chuck. But it takes work too." Carina smiled at her daughter. "I remember how hard you worked at trying to teleport for the first time. You were so proud when it finally worked."

"Mom!" Sarah protested, looking uncomfortable.

"Oh, please. If I wanted to embarrass you, I'd talk about your teenage rebellious phase. I mean, you actually used to take the stairs." Carina smiled at Chuck. "You aren't the only one who has had trouble accepting the idea of witches."

Chuck was beginning to feel slightly claustrophobic. He got to his feet and headed to the bedroom door. He felt two sets of eyes watch him the entire way, but neither Sarah nor Carina moved to stop him.

As he walked through the living room, he decided what he needed. He headed into the kitchen, and found a bottle standing at a top cabinet shelf. He removed the top and took a swig of the clear liquid.

"You know that's not actually vodka, right?"

Chuck nearly dropped the bottle as he whirled around to see his wife and mother-in-law standing by the kitchen table.

"How did you? Oh, never mind!" Chuck relented as he saw the faint smoke emanating around them. Teleportation was going to take some getting used to. "What do you mean? The label says vodka."

"Well, actually," Sarah said guiltily, "I kind of…" she held up her hand and wiggled her fingers in explanation. "It's pickled newt juice. It comes in handy on occasion, so I keep a bottle around. But I figured you would ask questions if you saw it as it was, and you usually don't drink much." Her look was slightly accusatory.

"Oh." Chuck sat down on the kitchen floor. "What's it going to do to me?"

"It will probably make you feel a bit dizzy, and blur your vision."

"Good. That's what I was going for."

Sarah moved over to Chuck and sat down beside him. "Do you want me to leave you two alone?" he heard Carina ask.

"No, it's ok," Chuck replied hoarsely. "Might as well have a whole family meeting."

"Chuck," Sarah said, her hand on his shoulder. "I'm still me. Still the same girl you fell in love with. Just think of me as a little more…enhanced."

Chuck's eyes momentarily shifted downward from Sarah's face.

"Not like that! We don't alter our physical appearance. Not unless absolutely necessary. It's a rule we live by."

"We're good people, Chuck," Carina chimed in. "We fight for the good of the country and the world. It's just the bad guys might be a bit different than you realize."

Chuck looked up. "Oh great, don't tell me. You guys fight vampires and werewolves, right?"

Carina and her daughter exchanged a look. "He goes to a lot of comic book conventions," Sarah offered up in explanation.

"Hey, at least my gatherings don't involve sitting around a cauldron in speak in tongues. Well, not most of them." He never should have let Morgan drag him to that Klingon prayer circle in 2006. "So, what do you mean then? A bunch of people are out there waiting for the chance to turn me into a chicken?"

"Oh please," Carina responded, "Poultrimancy has been obsolete for more than 100 years. No, the Ring preferred more aggressive methods."

"Wait, the Ring? The same Ring we eradicated a year ago? They're what, bad witches?"

"Warlocks, mostly. And yes, bad ones. But not quite eradicated."

"Though quite a bit weaker," Sarah chimed in, "In large part thanks to you."

Chuck considered this. "Then Shaw was a warlock?"

"Oh, God no," Sarah replied. "He was actually just a corpse re-animated by the Ring."

That was the first thing Chuck had heard all night that seemed to make sense.

"So, all this time we've been fighting evil witches?" he asked as he got to his feet and walked back to the living room. "Does Beckman know about this?"

Sarah and Carina gave each other a speculative look. "Yes, she does," Carina finally said. "Should we tell him? It seems like he's learned enough already."

"No, he needs the full truth." Sarah turned her head up to the ceiling. "Hey Sis? Could you come here a bit?"

Chuck decided that this was the perfect time for another sip of the pickled newt juice.

* * *

><p>"Hey Mom, what's up? I kind of want to get back to…Hey!" It took a moment for the smoke to clear after General Beckman apparated into the room, so she didn't immediately see Chuck. Once she did, she dove behind a couch with a grace that belied her age. Or at least what Chuck thought her age was.<p>

"Geez, couldn't you warn me he was here? I look totally horrible!"

Chuck stared at the furniture the four-star General was currently using as camouflage. "She seems a little…different when she's not on duty."

"Hey, I can act however I want," Chuck heard Beckman say. "I'm a United States General. So there."

She's usually more mature than this," Sarah explained, looking at her sister peevishly. "She's only like this if there's a cute boy around."

"My youngest has a slight crush on you," Carina added.

"Do not!" came the objection from behind the couch.

"So, she's your _younger_ sister?" Chuck asked Sarah.

"Like I said, we age differently."

"Right, right, parabolically, I know. But if she's younger, how come she's the General?"

"Hey!" General Beckman's petulant face popped up over the couch. "You don't think I deserved to get my job?"

"Well, I uh…" Chuck wasn't sure what to say, unsure of whether the General was going to reprimand him, or burst into tears.

"You know, it's always been like this!" the General added. "You know what it's like growing up with _her_ as an older sister? It was always _Sarah_ made a rabbit disappear. _Sarah_ was voted class president of Salem High. _Sarah_ made Kansas City levitate twenty feet off the ground."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "You need to be strong with spells to work in the field. Not as much for a desk job."

"Hey! Who was it that made radishes grow out of the Secretary of Defense's ears last week?"

"Ok, ok!" The combination of the sibling rivalry and the pickled newt juice was beginning to make Chuck's head spin. "So, your whole family are witches. Is your dad a…spell-cast-y type too? Is he going to drop by next?"

Sarah looked down. "No. Dad died when I was 14."

"Wait. What do you mean? I met your Dad! He kept calling me Schnook, remember?"

"Schnook!" General Beckman giggled. "That is _so_ awesome!"

"I'm sorry to deceive you about that, Chuck. The man you met, Jack Burton, was not my father."

"Sarah had a rough time after her father died," Carina explained. "We all did. One day, she decided to experiment with some new spells with the cat."

Chuck made a face. "So you're telling me that the man I talked to, who I spent several days trying to impress, was a cat?"

"Well, I'm surprised you didn't realize it. Cats are naturally inclined to white-collar crime."

"Mr. Wiggles seemed to enjoy it so much, we decided we couldn't change him back," Carina explained.

Chuck was still struggling with the idea that the man he'd been so intimidated by was someone who licked himself clean.

"My best friend Cathy and I once cast a spell on her pet German Shepherd," General Beckman commented. "He's a Senator now."

"You know what will make everyone feel better?" Carina asked. "Family photos." The red-headed agent snapped her fingers, and an old album appeared in her hands.

"Oh God," Sarah and Diane said simultaneously.

Chuck was torn between curiosity and apprehension, but sat down on the couch beside Carina. Sarah sat next to him, and the General peeked up at them from behind the couch.

"Ooh, here's Sarah, lying in her crib." Chuck peered down at the photograph. Sarah was certainly cute even then, but the various members of the reptile kingdom hanging from the mobile were a bit disconcerting. Especially since they seemed to still be alive.

The next picture showed a toddler-age Sarah on the ground, with the crib now floating in the air. "She outgrew that crib pretty quickly. We had a heck of a time getting it off of the roof."

Seeing that neither Chuck nor Sarah seemed particularly comfortable with these early pictures, Carina skipped ahead. "Here she is on her birthday. Do you remember that day, Sweetie? When you first got Mr. Wiggles?"

"I do." Sarah had seemed to relax a bit more now that they'd moved past the baby pictures. Chuck looked closely at the small kitten. It did bear a slight resemblance to Jack Burton.

"Bored now," the General announced, and moved to study the shelf of DVDs at the other end of the room. "Hey, don't you guys have any 'Gossip Girl'?"

"Ah, and I remember this day so clearly!" Carina said as she ignored her younger daughter and turned the page. "I was so proud." The picture showed a young Sarah standing in front of a local movie theatre, a large white sign in hand. Chuck squinted, and could just make out the words 'Splashing water is a hate crime.'

"They were showing "The Wizard of Oz," Sarah explained.

"Sarah always fought for what she believed in, even at that age. Both of my daughters did," she hastily added when the General started making retching noises in the background.

"Now, I think there are some pictures from her middle school years. I think that I still have the one when you turned into a ten-foot ogre for that class project."

Chuck looked up to see his wife giving him a speculative look. "Chuck? Are you ok?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You were making whimpering noises." Sarah looked up at her mother and sister. "Hey guys, maybe I should have some time with Chuck alone."

"Of course," Carina said. "You two have a lot to talk about. Welcome to the family, Chucky," she embraced him, and then vanished in a puff of smoke.

"You're lucky you're so hot," General Beckman commented. "Otherwise, I'd send you off to Kandahar or something."

A moment later, the living room was filled with two clouds of white smoke, and Chuck's in-laws were gone.

* * *

><p>Sarah watched her husband for a few minutes, as he sat motionless on the living room couch. Finally, when Chuck's glazed expression showed no signs of leaving his face, she spoke.<p>

"I'm sorry this has been such a shock to you, Chuck. But you kept telling me you wanted to know more about what I was like before I met you."

"Yeah," Chuck's voice cracked, "but I didn't think that it would cause everything I believed to be true about my life to change."

"Well, you should be used to _that_ by now. And let's face it, your family isn't always a picnic either."

"So I have a sister that tends to meddle on occasion," Chuck replied, "and a brother-in-law whose repertoire of adjectives could use a little help. That's hardly the same thing."

"Let's not forget about the parents with the mysterious back story that just happens to have a connection to most of our missions. It's like your life was written by Joseph Campbell." Seeing the surprised look on her husband's face, Sarah said, "What? Sometimes I like to look through your books while you're out with Morgan. It's refreshing to read something that's not written in 16th Century English and doesn't make a swarm of locusts appear in the room."

"Alright," Chuck said. "Point taken. My family is screwed up too. But I didn't know about a lot of that either. We both discovered my parents' secrets at the same time. Or almost at the same time," he added, remembering that he hadn't told Sarah about his mother right away. "This is being dropped on my lap all at once."

"I know, and I'm sorry," Sarah put her hand over Chuck's. "But really, it's not that big of a deal. I'm not an Orthodox witch like my mother; so I don't really use my abilities that much. I almost never do when you're around. Never here, and I hardly ever use my powers on missions these days."

"Really?"

"Well, believe me, sometimes they come in handy. Like when you're in danger. But not routinely any more, even though they could be very helpful when going undercover. It's a lot quicker to just wave your hand and become a six-foot lumberjack, or a spider, or Colin Powell, then to have to spend hours preparing elaborate costumes. But you make do."

Sarah leaned in closer to Chuck, gazing deeply into his eyes. "The point is, it's just something from my past that might come in handy in a crisis. Think of it as my own Intersect. And this won't affect our relationship any more than your Intersect did. It's a part of my old life, but it doesn't have to be a part of ours."

Chuck took a deep breath. "Ok. I'm sorry if I overreacted a bit. It was just a lot of news for one night. So, just to make sure that was it, right? Nothing else you wanted to tell me."

"Well, actually, there is one more thing."

* * *

><p><em>Seven months later<em>

"Honey, did you know you could substitute gingko balboa and pomegranate seeds for toadstools in most summoning spells?"

Chuck put down the book on the large collection of reading material piled onto the bedside table. It was fascinating reading, but he was tired. Missions had only gotten more tiring since Sarah had taken time off. The necromancer they'd just stopped from turning the Dutch ambassador into a marmot had been a handful, to say the least. Nearly as tiring was keeping up the cover story he'd crafted for Casey and Morgan; fortunately the description of an international arms dealer had satisfied Casey's patriotic disposition and Morgan's general disinterest in details.

Like most post-mission nights, Chuck had spent his time learning about the two worlds he had recently been thrust into. He had organized his collection of references into two piles; one contained Devon's dog-eared collection of parenting books that he'd recently borrowed. Most of it he'd already been told by his sister, but the occasionally scrawled 'awesome' in the margins helped him find useful tips.

The other collection consisted of many harder-to-find books. But between "So You're Having a Witch Baby," "10 Surefire Ways to Hex-Proof Your Home," "Basic Spells for Dummies," and for good measure, Seasons 3 and 4 of "Charmed" on DVD, he felt like he had a basic knowledge of what to expect for his own, unique situation.

Not that there hadn't been bumps in the road. Babies-R-Us didn't sell cribs with the necessary levitation-proof crossbars, so they'd had to special order one. There had been the awkward situation when he'd asked the owner of the Day Care Center whether there was going to be room in Gryffindor House for his daughter. And he'd learned very quickly that you shouldn't refer to your baby's spell-casting obstetrician as a "witch doctor."

But all in all, he thought he'd done well for himself. And it had been good to finally feel like he was accepted by Sarah's family. Carina seemed to keep wanting to mother him all the time, which still seemed weird, and slightly creepy. And General Beckman hadn't completely lost her schoolgirl crush for him, which had now occasionally surfaced in mission briefings. He'd gotten strange looks from Casey for a whole month after the General had slipped and called him a stud muffin before sending them off to Algeria. He'd even gotten to have a few good conversations with Jack Burton when he'd come to visit, though he frequently stopped listening to Chuck in order to play with a ball of yarn he'd just found. Still, he'd taken it in stride, and he thought that Sarah had been proud of how he'd taken everything in stride.

Sarah, Chuck thought. She'd been in the bathroom for quite a while, and it had been quiet. He got out of bed, and knocked on the door. "Sarah, everything ok?"

"Um, Chuck," her voice was soft. "Don't freak out."

Chuck chose to ignore this bit of advice, and immediately began to panic. "Oh my God! It's time. I need to find the overnight bag! And my car keys! Where did I leave them? And where's the good cauldron?"

"Chuck." Sarah had stepped out of the bathroom, and was standing there watching him, her arms enfolded over her very pregnant belly. "Relax. I need you to be calm for me. I don't want you to be possessed by a Mongolian Yak Spirit, but if that's what I have to do to keep you from bolting, I will make that happen."

Chuck decided that his wife wasn't bluffing, and swallowed away his panic. "Ok. I'm ready. I'll go pack up the car."

Sarah smiled. "Have I told you how much I love you?"

"I love you too. Let's go have a baby."

Chuck gathered all of Sarah's things, and left a quick message for his sister. He wasn't sure Ellie could be there for this particular birth, but he figured he needed her support for the sake of his well-being and sanity.

Once the car was full, he returned to the house and helped Sarah into the passenger seat. "Hold on, I forgot one thing," he said, and rushed back into the house.

He headed to the kitchen, and found what he was looking for in the top cabinet. As ready as he was, he still might need something to calm himself. He put the bottle of pickled newt juice into his jacket, and went back outside, ready to become a father.

* * *

><p><em>Well, because this last story was so scary, I'll give you a chance to relax by thinking of calm things.<em>

**Bunny Rabbits**

**Roses**

**Something involving Julie Andrews**

_There. All better?_

_Anyhow, I should probably point out this was not intended as a spoof of "Bewitched" though it probably bears some similarities. And despite the title, I decided to let Sarah stay "Sarah" (which the show seems to have done as well, probably due to the Shaw plotline backlash). _

_Well I hope you've enjoyed this little trifecta of terror. Okay, of mild fear. Vague feeling of unease, maybe? Eh, whatever, hopefully these made you chuckle a little bit. Please let me know! I take to reviews like a vampire to blood. Though in a less disgusting, more sanitary way._

_Happy Halloween!_


End file.
